The Umbrella Who Collected Puddles: Where Does Rain Go?
Summary
Marigold is a shy little yellow umbrella who has never been out in the rain. When a gust of wind blows her into the garden, she meets Pip, a cheerful raindrop, and learns that rain never really disappears.
Transcript
0:00Marigold in the Stand
At the end of Willow Lane stood a little shop that sold buttons, ribbons and string. By its front door, in a tall tin stand, lived the umbrellas. There were black umbrellas, long and serious. There was a striped umbrella who liked to boast. And there, squeezed into the corner, was the smallest umbrella of all. Her name was Marigold, and she was as yellow as a buttercup. Marigold was shy. Whenever the bell above the door jingled, she tucked her handle down and tried to look like a walking stick. 'Too bright,' she would whisper to herself. 'Too small. Nobody will pick me.' And nobody ever did. Every rainy morning, hands reached into the stand and pulled out the black umbrellas and the striped one, and off they went into the weather. Marigold stayed behind, listening to the rain drum on the window. She had never been out in it. Not once. She did not even know what rain was really for. It seemed to fall, and splash, and then simply vanish. Where did it go? That question sat inside her like a little seed, waiting to grow.
0:55Blown Into the Rain
One grey afternoon, the shopkeeper, Mrs. Okafor, propped the door open to let in the cool air. Rain pattered on the step. Outside, a gust of wind came whistling down the lane. It swirled through the doorway, rattled the ribbons, and tipped the tin stand with a clang. Out rolled Marigold. She bounced off the step, tumbled across the path, and came to rest in the little garden beside the shop, upside down, her yellow canopy open like a cup. Rain fell all around her. It tapped on the leaves. It dripped from the fence. It gathered in a shallow puddle right next to her handle. 'Oh dear,' whispered Marigold. 'Oh dear, oh dear.' 'Don't worry,' said a tiny, bubbly voice. 'It's only rain. Nobody ever got hurt by a bit of rain.' Marigold peered into the puddle. There, sparkling on the surface, was a single round raindrop, brighter than the rest. It wobbled when it talked. 'I'm Pip,' said the raindrop. 'I just landed. What a lovely colour you are! You look like a piece of sunshine that fell down by mistake.'
1:53Where Does Rain Go?
Marigold had never been called lovely before. Her spokes went warm all over. 'I'm Marigold,' she said shyly. 'I'm an umbrella. At least, I'm supposed to be. Nobody has ever taken me out in the rain.' 'Well, you're out in it now,' said Pip, and did a happy little swirl. Marigold watched the puddle ripple. Then she asked the question she had kept inside her for so long. 'Pip, where does rain go? It falls, and then it disappears. Does it just... stop?' Pip laughed, a sound like a tiny bell. 'Stop? Oh no. Rain never stops. Rain is always going somewhere. This puddle is just a resting place, like a bench at a bus stop. Soon I'll slip away into the gutter, and from the gutter to the stream, and then I'll keep on travelling.' Marigold's handle drooped. 'You're leaving?' she said. 'But you only just got here. You're the first friend I've ever had.' 'Everybody in the rain is leaving,' said Pip gently. 'That's the whole adventure.' But Marigold did not want an adventure. She wanted a friend who would stay.
2:47Collecting Puddles
So Marigold had an idea. It was not a very good idea, but it felt like one at the time. Her canopy was already upside down, open like a bowl. If she could gather up the puddles, she thought, she could keep the rain right here with her. Then Pip would never have to go. She wriggled and rocked until she was sitting beneath the drip from the fence. Plip. Plop. Plip. The water ran down and filled her yellow bowl. 'Marigold,' said Pip, 'what are you doing?' 'Collecting puddles,' said Marigold proudly. 'I'm going to keep them. All of them. Then you can stay forever.' She caught the drip from the fence. She caught the trickle from the drainpipe. She leaned and scooped and collected, until she held three whole puddles' worth of water. But water is heavy. Her spokes began to creak. Her handle sank into the soft soil. When she tried to move, she couldn't. She was stuck, full to the brim, and the water inside her sat perfectly still. It didn't sparkle anymore. It didn't swirl. It just waited.
3:40Pip Explains the Journey
Pip rolled to the edge of the puddle and looked up at her. 'Marigold,' said Pip kindly, 'water that can't move gets very bored. Can I show you something?' Marigold nodded, though nodding is hard for an umbrella. 'Rain comes down from the clouds,' said Pip. 'It lands on rooftops and leaves and gardens. It makes puddles. Then the puddles trickle into little streams, and the little streams join together into bigger streams. The bigger streams flow into rivers, and the rivers wind all the way to the wide blue sea.' 'And then?' asked Marigold. 'Then the sun comes out,' said Pip, glowing at the thought. 'It warms the water until it turns so light and so soft that it floats up into the sky, too small to see. Up there, it gathers with all the others, and together they make new clouds. And when the clouds are full, down comes the rain again. Round and round, forever.' Marigold thought about this. 'So rain doesn't disappear,' she said slowly. 'It just goes travelling.' 'Exactly,' said Pip. 'Would you like to come?'
4:38Letting the Water Go
Marigold looked at the still water sitting in her canopy. It had been running and splashing and flying, and she had made it stop. She felt a little ashamed. 'All right,' she said softly. 'I'll let it go.' She tipped, and tipped, and with a great gurgling whoosh, the three puddles poured out of her and ran laughing down the garden path. They sparkled again at once. Without all that weight, Marigold felt as light as a feather. The wind gave her a nudge, and she rolled to the edge of the gutter, where a busy little stream of rainwater was hurrying by. Pip was already in it, bobbing along. 'Jump in!' called Pip. 'You'd make a wonderful boat!' Marigold had never been a boat before. She had never been anything before, really. She took a breath, leaned forward, and landed in the stream with her canopy upside down and her handle sticking up like a little mast. And off she sailed, past the button shop, under a tiny bridge, and out along the ditch at the bottom of Willow Lane.
5:33Down to the River
The stream carried them through a field of tall wet grass, where snails were out enjoying the weather. It tumbled gently over smooth pebbles and joined another stream, and then another, until the water grew wide and deep and slow. 'This is the river,' said Pip. 'Hello, river!' The river was enormous. Ducks paddled along its edges. Willow trees dipped their long green fingers into it. Marigold floated in the middle, turning slowly, gazing at everything. 'There's so much rain here,' she said in wonder. 'Rain from all over,' said Pip. 'From rooftops, from mountains, from somebody's garden, from your garden. We all end up together.' For a long, peaceful time they drifted. Marigold forgot to feel shy. Nobody was looking at her and thinking she was too bright, or too small. The river didn't mind what colour she was. It just carried her along, the way it carried everything. Then, little by little, the clouds above began to part. A ray of golden light spilled down onto the water, and Pip began to shimmer.
6:30Pip Rises Up
'Oh,' said Pip. 'Here's the sun. That means it's my turn.' 'Your turn for what?' asked Marigold, though she already knew. 'To go up,' said Pip. 'I'm getting lighter. Can you feel it? I'm going to float up and become part of a cloud.' Marigold watched as Pip grew fainter and fainter, until Pip was only a tiny glimmer of mist rising into the warm air. 'Will I ever see you again?' she called. 'Rain always comes back!' Pip's voice floated down, soft as a whisper. 'Look for me next time it rains. And Marigold... you're not just for catching rain, you know. You're for something even better. You'll see.' And then Pip was gone. The river nudged Marigold gently towards the bank, where she came to rest in the reeds. She sat there, alone, drying in the sunshine. Something even better, she wondered. What could be better than catching rain? She didn't know. And because she didn't know, she felt small again, smaller than ever, in a world that suddenly seemed very big.
7:21Someone Needs Shelter
Before long, the sky began to change again. A fresh grey cloud came drifting over the river, and the first drops of a new shower began to fall. Along the path by the water came an old man with a walking stick, and a little boy holding his hand. 'Grandpa Teo,' said the boy, looking up, 'it's starting to rain, and we didn't bring an umbrella.' 'Never mind, Sami,' said his grandfather. 'We'll walk a bit faster.' But Grandpa Teo could not walk very fast. Marigold watched them from the reeds. The raindrops were landing on Grandpa Teo's woolly hat and on Sami's small shoulders. And all at once, Marigold understood. She could not keep the rain. Nobody could. Rain had to travel. But she could stand between the rain and someone who needed keeping dry. That was what an umbrella was for. Not catching. Sheltering. She gathered every bit of her courage, and as the wind blew past, she let it lift her out of the reeds and roll her right onto the path, in front of Sami's feet.
8:16A Gift of Shelter
'Look, Grandpa!' cried Sami. 'An umbrella! A yellow one!' He picked her up, found her catch, and pushed. Up went Marigold's canopy, wide and round and bright as a sunflower. The rain drummed down on top of her, and underneath, Sami and Grandpa Teo stayed snug and dry. 'Well, I never,' chuckled Grandpa Teo. 'What a cheerful little thing. It's like walking under our very own sun.' They walked slowly home along the river, all the way back to the end of Willow Lane, and Mrs. Okafor came out of the button shop and laughed. 'There you are!' she said. 'Please, keep her. I think she's been waiting for you.' And so Marigold went to live by Sami's front door. Every rainy morning after that, she went out into the weather, opened wide, and kept someone dry. Sometimes, when the raindrops tapped on her canopy, one of them would sparkle a little brighter than the rest, and she would hear a tiny, bubbly voice say, 'Hello again!' Marigold never collected puddles anymore. She had learned that rain is meant to travel, and that she was meant to be the bright, warm place where people could wait for it to pass.
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Series: science (English)